no, not queen.
woman king
hundred years
hundred more
someday we may see
a woman king
sword in hand
swing at some evil and

Simple, smooth name- it must roll off the the tongue like molasses, or else it risks losing its meaning. the girl who bears it also bears a tremendous amount of pain- the type that tears at your beauty, taking it and throwing it into the fire- or, just as destructive, yet notably less violent- the water.

The Man who Killed for Love
He is not gorgeous, he is not kind. He took her innocence in his hands and tore at it like bread being torn for the meal. He molded her into who she was. The artist, the writer, the lover- the murderer. He must never be remembered, he must never be forgotten.

The Man who Died for Love
Foolish, yet wise. The boy- oh, just a boy, not yet a man of any sort- who allowed for a girl, captive and crumbling, to break her vow to another. Another man, another man- the other man, for most see him as such. Nothing good can come out of his touch.

The Death of Innocence
Something evil, something sour- the man who killed has all but devoured the poor, kind girl’s innocence. Her only jewel, her only cent. He stole it away- without any thought for anyone but himself. Believing he was right, believe she was in love. He never paid for his sins- he only cried for them.

Death of Love
Lost and hurt, the girl would search for some sort of refuge. Anything- life or death. Something to take away the burden of her soul, and the burden of his. Found in the man who died was an awakening of sorts- the promise of not only love, but eternal happiness. Oh, how little the lovers cared for the consequences. Oh, how little they feared of the world.

The Man who Killed for Love
Take your last breath, your last kiss- the man who killed found the man who died. Their friendship was nothing- cruel, bitter, cold. The darkness soon enveloped the man who died, yet he had lived more than any other man in this world. He had loved, and love had given him a soul in which he could hold onto in the next life.

The name means nothing once it is forgotten. Its lovely way of falling of the tongue dead and gone with its owner. The man who killed would kill again- though it was not killing. It was not as emotionless as a killing. It was not so simple and so pure as a killing was- it was a murder. A murder which would cover up the girl- the girl who loved, the girl who lived, the girl who died. The water would splash, the waves would crash- and no one would remember the girl who drowned.

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    Poetic (originally written by tumblr user godforsakenmind)
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